Poun is not an imaginary city

Tobacco stained tongue in 2005.

Circa 2004:

Yesterday was blue street signs and I knew that you weren't etched behind them anymore. Flooded bridges next to everything. And you are not here now, finally. And heads no longer implode and I'm not diving between stairs, here, anymore. And now, I need to talk to someone to just simply walk over bridges. I forgot how soft skin can be, this is what being in the wrong place for three years has done. All the imaginary locations made these thoughts collapse.

Seoul is no longer a borderland.

Being here for five months has dissolved nearly everything. The room was completely uneven. All nearly yellow with a tiny refrigerator. Insulted completely by not eating fruit. And I was all dressed up, as if strolling down hills with meaning. All the spoken noises were outside, besides tiles and I could not speak, except to ask.

I am here in Bangkok. Yesterday I walked across half this city (Khao San Rd to Chinatown) it took me six hours because I kept getting lost and distracted.

I am taking off to Mae Sot finally, tomorrow.

(I think I am truly able to say good-bye to you.)

Photos and words will be here until August.

over here: http://www.violenceintherural.org

(I do miss the Center for the Humanities).

I do miss too much when I am here. Tokyo was everything I wanted.

Everyone in this city now knows how obsessive I can become.